Frost
by sinemoras09
Summary: Just beyond the horizon, bombs are beginning to fall. AU, post-apocalypse. Sandra x Claude, one-sided. Gen. Angst. Written during Season 2.


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Claude is tired and Peter won't shut up. He keeps yapping about his brother and his family and wanting to save the world.

Something explodes. Fantastic. Now they're gonna get bombed to death, too.

xXx

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Word gets around that Bennet's dead. It's a shame, because Bennet had been doing a lot of good work these last few years: hiding specials and generally sticking it to The Man. 'Course, if you really get down to it, the real shame of it is that Claude should have been the one to stick it to him.

There's just no justice in the world.

xXx

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Sandra doesn't remember him. Sandra doesn't know who the fuck he is.

"I think I can fix it," Peter says. "I have the Haitian's ability. I should be able to reverse it, too."

He does and Sandra's big blue eyes brighten with recognition.

Empaths _do_ have their uses, sometimes.

xXx

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Claude wonders how exactly Sandra and Peter are related. "We're not," Peter says.

"Well she's Claire's mother," Claude says.

"Adoptive mother," Peter says.

"And you're Claire's uncle," Claude says. "You two are on the same generational line on the family tree. Maybe Sandra is your adoptive-sister. Or step-sister. Or something like that, once-removed. But then again, you're much too young," Claude says. "If Sandra and me are the big dogs, you'd be the fucking puppy."

Sandra starts laughing. Peter is not amused.

xXx

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One of the most common problems trying to survive in the midst of a post-apocalyptic fallow is trying to find a halfway decent place to sleep.

They've slept in subway tunnels, an abandoned motel, a former crack den and beside the concrete support beams of a Jersey City overpass.

Peter finds an empty trashcan and fills it with newspaper. Then he uses his handy dandy firebending skills and sets the trashcan on fire.

Well at least they don't have to worry about getting cold.

xXx

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Somehow, Peter manages to find an abandoned house on the outskirts of the city. There's an electric generator and an underground well that provides running water. "We can't stay here long," Peter says. "Just a few nights and that's it. We have to keep moving."

Sandra steps out into the snow and collects firewood while Claude rummages through the remains of the kitchen. There's alcohol in the cupboard and a loaf of non-moldy bread. Across from them, there's a living room with a couch and a coffee-table and a perfectly functioning television set.

Claude approves. Nice to know Peter can come through, every once and a while.

xXx

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Sandra sits perched on the couch, her hands clasped on her knees while the television flickers quietly. "This used to be Lyle's favorite," Sandra says. The light from the TV ghosts across her face. "He always liked those Kurosawa movies. I never knew anything about them, but Lyle. He always liked those ninjas," Sandra says.

xXx

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Sandra is crying again. Invisible, Claude enters her room to see if she's okay. She's not--she's crying in her sleep. Quickly, Claude drops his invisibility and shakes her roughly by the shoulders. "Sandra," Claude says, and he shakes her harder. "Sandra!"

Sandra jerks awake. "Claude," Sandra says.

"You alright?" Claude asks.

"I'm fine," Sandra says. "I'm just....a little out of sorts. I'm fine, really."

She reaches up and touches the side of her face; he can see the wetness edging around the corners of her eyes.

"Well, how about a drink, then?" Claude asks.

xXx

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Claude finds out Sandra and bourbon do not mix.

He gives her more, anyway. She needs more meat on her bones.

xXx

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It's not even a week before it's time to move on again.

Light edges out from underneath the curtains, and Claude pauses, screwing the cap back on the bottle. "The fuck is that? It's midnight," Claude says.

Peter pulls the curtain back and peers out the window. "Headlights," Peter says. The trucks park outside and soldiers jump off onto the curb.

Claude pockets the booze. Bourbon's not gonna drink itself.

xXx

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They're rummaging through an abandoned warehouse when Claude sees a coterie of soldiers rounding up a herd of specials into a van. But Sandra is there and so is Peter and Claude can't risk having them hurt.

Lord knows Peter would be useless in a flash fight.

xXx

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There's a scar on Claude's shoulder from the bullet wound where Bennet shot him, but it doesn't hurt too much. It mostly just itches, and Claude scratches at it occasionally when he's feeling aggravated.

"I can heal that, you know," Peter says one day.

Claude fixes his shirt and waves his hand.

"Nah, don't bother," Claude says. "It gives the ladies something to worry on."

xXx

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It's almost Christmas and there's snow on the ground. Which is fine and all, but when Sandra and Peter curl up to sleep, Claude is left with a nagging uneasy feeling that he just can't shake.

Before the war, Claude mostly spent the last few Christmases holed up in his room with nothing but his right hand and a collection of lovely adult entertainment to keep him company. The only real Christmases he spent were at the Bennets'. It didn't snow in Texas but that didn't stop them from hauling in a Christmas tree or stringing lights around the house.

But Claude doesn't mind. Christmas is boring, anyway.

xXx

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There's a gun on the table, and Claude watches Sandra pick it up absently.

"That Bennet's?" Claude asks. Sandra looks up, startled.

"What?" Sandra asks. Claude cocks his head.

"That," Claude says. He motions toward the gun. "That's Bennet's old piece. I'd recognize it anywhere."

Sandra pushes the gun away. "I never liked guns," Sandra says. "I didn't think Noah liked them either, but....well I guess there was a lot I didn't know about him."

She looks sad and Claude doesn't like that. But Claude doesn't like a lot of things, so that's really nothing new.

xXx

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The thing about Sandra Bennet is, she never lets on what she's really feeling. The world could be imploding and the planet could be bombed to shit, but Sandra would just keep on at it. Claude can't decide if she's a saint or a special in disguise.

xXx

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One night, Peter sits in and tries to mind-read during one of Sandra's nightmares. Claude thought it was a stupid idea, but Peter seemed to think it would help. So Claude stands watch while Peter sits perched by Sandra's bed, his face screwed up tight like he's about to lay an egg.

"Well?" Claude asks. Peter shakes his head.

"I can't access it. I'm just not good enough yet," Peter says.

It was just Claude's luck to be stuck with one of the world's most useless empaths. "I'm not useless," Peter says.

(He seems to be bloody good at reading minds, though.)

xXx

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They're being chased by soldiers and Peter's nowhere to be found. Sandra trips and Claude grabs her hand. They round a corner and he pushes her flat against the wall.

They're invisible. He can feel Sandra breathing hard, her face muffled against his shirt.

Soldiers run right past them. Then they stop. "Get out the infrared," someone says.

They're slammed into the wall. Peter comes rushing out.

Bloody empath. At least he shows up when you need him to.

xXx

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"Today is Lyle's birthday," Sandra says.

Claude looks up. As a rule, he doesn't talk about the children. He skirts around the topic, talks about the weather or the lack of food or the incessant fucking cannons that keep going off in the distance.

"Well when we find him, we'll make sure to get him something belated, then," Claude says, simply.

Claude is smart enough not to say what all three of them know already.

xXx

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"Claude?" Sandra says.

"Yeah?" Claude says.

"Have I ever told you how Noah died?" Sandra says.

Claude is quiet. He sits down next to her, the bed creaking under his weight.

"He killed himself," Sandra says. "They brought in a telepath. He didn't want them to find out where he was hiding the others."

Claude nods. "I'm sorry," he says. Sandra bows her head.

"I miss him," Sandra says. "I miss my family. I can't do this anymore."

Sandra was always kind to him. Even when Bennet gave him shit for hanging around the house too long, Sandra never minded.

"Shh," Claude says. He moves closer and lets Sandra lean against him. She smells like sweat and rain.

xXx

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Claude tries not to think of Bennet. As far as worst moments go, _that_ was quite possibly one of the worst fucking moments Claude's ever experienced.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Peter asks. As if he can't just read his bloody fucking mind already.

"Shove off," Claude says.

He tries to ignore the bewildered look on Sandra's face.

xXx

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Claude goes back and apologizes.

Peter is good at not holding grudges.

xXx

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They sell puppies on the black market, but people don't buy them for pets. With the war and the lack of transportation, getting proper meat is next to impossible, and people have resorted to slaughtering their prized pets in order to eat.

Claude sees a brown puppy pawing at the cage. He's nice and fat and looks healthy all around. Claude steals him and lifts the entire cage right under everyone's noses.

"Oh my stars, who is _this_?" Sandra says. She grabs the puppy from Claude's arms. "Who is this beautiful boy? Does he have a mommy? Does he have a _mommy_? Oh Claude, thank you!"

He had saved the brown one, but let the other puppies go.

The gents at the black market were most certainly pissed.

xXx

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Claude can't sleep, so he leaves the camp to secure the perimeter. When he comes back, he overhears Peter and Sandra talking about him. "What is it between you two, anyway?" Peter asks. "It's like you're attached to the hip. You don't need to read minds to know what's going on."

Sandra picks up the puppy and fondles his ears. "Claude and I are very good friends," Sandra says. "He used to work with Noah at the paper factory. Although, I suppose it wasn't really _paper_ they were working on. But you know what I mean. We were very good friends."

"I think he likes you," Peter says.

"What? Claude?" Sandra says.

"He's lonely, he has no one to talk to. Have you seen the way he looks at you? He normally doesn't care about anyone," Peter says.

There is a lump in Claude's throat and he hates himself for it. Sandra starts playing with her wedding ring. She's lost weight, so it slides loosely on her finger. "Claude is a lovely man," Sandra says. "Any woman would be lucky to have him."

Claude turns and leaves. There could be intruders around the perimeter, after all.

xXx

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Peter starts calling the puppy Simon. "He looks like a Simon," Peter says. The puppy licks Peter's fingers and snuggles against his chest. "Yes, Simon, that's a good boy," Peter says. The puppy wags, yipping happily.

The one good thing about Simon, other than his burgeoning Attack Dog potential, is that he keeps Sandra company when she has her nightmares. Better than Claude ever has, anyway.

xXx

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The terrorist Hiro Nakamura somehow manages to liberate a special holding facility just outside of New York City. Sandra is frantic. She pushes through the crowd, holding up a photograph. "Lyle Bennet?" Sandra says. "Have any of you seen Lyle Bennet?" Sandra doesn't ask about Claire because she already knows that Claire is dead.

Claude is there when Sandra collapses in a heap on the ground.

xXx

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Claude leaves them on a Tuesday night. The air is cold and Peter and Sandra huddle up for warmth. Claude switches to invisibility and the puppy perks up its ears. It wriggles out from under Sandra's arm and trots after Claude.

"No," Claude says. "Stay."

The dog yips and wags its tail. "Stupid dog," Claude says. He scoops him up and sets him next to Sandra. The puppy yawns, then makes a half circle before curling up to sleep.

Claude takes a moment to feel sorry for himself. Then he hitches up his coat and starts to leave.

xXx

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Claude has never seen anyone cry so hard before. "Where did you go? Why did you leave? How could you do that to us?" Sandra says. Her face is blotchy and she beats her fists against his chest. "You stupid man! Do you know how worried I've been? You could have gotten yourself killed!"

It isn't quite the homecoming Claude had expected. It makes him happy nevertheless.

Sandra disappears to find food and Peter stares at him incredulously. "You were jealous? Over a _dog_?"

Fucking stupid bloody empaths. Worthless, the lot of them.

xXx

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After Bennet shot Claude, Claude miraculously managed to stay invisible while he staggered toward a safe place in a cave just beyond the freeway overpass. It took quite a lot of concentration, and even though Claude was sure he was bleeding to death, a part of him was slightly surprised at the amount of control he was able to exercise over his ability. That night, he made his way to the Bennet household, if only to see the children one last time. Sandra was baking a casserole and Claire and Lyle were doing homework on the table. He was weak from the loss of blood, and when he leaned up against the tree, the branch broke from underneath him.

Sandra looked up. "Honey?" she said. She set the dishtowel down and went up to the window.

"What is it?" Bennet asked.

"I think I heard something," Sandra said. Bennet peered out into the dark.

"It's nothing, just probably a raccoon," Bennet said. The doorbell rang. "Honey would you get that?"

Sandra disappeared from the window. Claude had an uneasy feeling. Instinctively, he crouched low in the shadows. Something happened, then. His body began to materialize. Claude jerked upright: in the window, he could see The Haitian stepping inside.

xXx

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"You know, for what it's worth, he didn't want to shoot you," Peter says.

"I haven't the slightest idea what the fuck you're talking about," Claude says. "Listen, mate, if you're going for oblique here, you're doing a bang-up job of it. Now if you excuse me, I need to take a piss." He stands up and starts to leave.

"Hey," Peter says. He follows after him. "You know what I'm talking about. This is important. It's eating you up inside, you have to let it out."

"Right, and on with the psychoanalysis, then," Claude says. He tries to go invisible but can't. "And now you're tapping The Haitian. Fantastic."

"You should tell her how you feel," Peter says.

"How about this?" Claude asks, and he flips Peter the middle finger. "Eh? How's that for sharing my feelings? I think that's appropriate, don't you? Now, would you kindly fuck off and give me back my invisibility, please? I'd really appreciate it."

"Fine," Peter says, and Claude becomes invisible. It pisses him off that he has to deal with this horse shit on a day-to-day basis.

xXx

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There is a reason why Claude avoided people for so long. People suck. And that's a fact.

Claude can't decide if he's pissed off or terrified.

xXx

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The sun is starting to set, and Sandra is standing at the window. "I was angry at Noah for such a long time," she says. She takes off her wedding ring, which by now must be two sizes too big for her. "Angry at the things he did. Taking my memories and leaving us behind. But I know he did it for a good reason." She slips the ring back on. It glints slightly in the orange sunlight. "I hate this war," Sandra says. "I just want my life back."

Just beyond the horizon, bombs are beginning to fall. If this were a movie, one of those horrendously clichéd films that Peter undoubtedly used to watch, Claude would put his hand on Sandra's shoulder and lean her close, and in that shared moment find a connection. But this isn't a movie, they're standing in an abandoned motel where the wallpaper is peeling and specials are herded away like cattle.

"Peter said you wanted to talk," Sandra says. "Is something wrong?"

Claude shakes his head. "Just the usual," Claude says. He turns and heads back into his room.

end.


End file.
